Travelling every day on the Frankston line, there is a wide variety of train passengers.
My favourite psycho sat next to me yesterday. A rare occurrence.
Let's call him Frederick. He is thirty'ish. Fit. Close cropped hair. Close cropped hair and beard.
Gets on at Chelsea. He will do a couple of laps up and down two or three carriages. This involves going back and forth through the carriage connecting doors. Finding the best spot. Yesterday, next to me. I was surprised.
There are plenty of rituals for him. Breakfast ritual. Spreads out his breakfast as if he was at home. Eats it.
But yesterday it was the sleep-in followed by some exercise.
Takes off shoes. Stretches out. Goes back to sleep. For about 25 minutes.
Closer to the city, wakes up. Stands up and does a full set of stretching excercises. Takes about ten minutes all up. In the meantime people are leaving and entering the carriage. They have to squeeze in or out past him.
Then it's the serious exercises. In the space near the door. Chin ups on the bar and various lifting exercises. Takes about another ten minutes.
Not many people sit near him. So to finish off he takes out all his post and spreads it out for reading. Reads it. Then packs it back into his satchel.
Gets packed up. Off to work.
In any other context, of course, this is relatively normal behaviour. But on a packed train it is nothing short of bizarre.
Yes. He has to be a character somewhere.